


♡ This is all your fault ♡

by Hawkinsbabe (Multishippers)



Series: ♡ Shoutout to my rare pairs (prompts)♡ [6]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: ? - Freeform, Bisexual Mike Hanlon, Enemies to Lovers, Gay Stanley Uris, M/M, Mike Hanlon Isn't Homeschooled, Stanlon - Freeform, and it made sense then i swear, but not really because i can't write, enemies to enemies with benefits, hell if i know how to describe it, prompts, welcome to my shit show, wrote this a 3 am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 18:07:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18707224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multishippers/pseuds/Hawkinsbabe
Summary: Prompt: stanlon + enemies to lovers↛ sent by tinyarmedtrex via tumblr





	♡ This is all your fault ♡

 

 _Childish_. That’s their friends’ called this aggression they both felt toward each other as they grew up. They never got along and none of the losers could understand why. If they were to believe what they knew about Mike and Stan, they would be great friends! Hell, greater friends than they all were combined.

So it came as such a surprise when a fight broke out a few minutes after Mike sat between Stan and Eddie during lunch one day when they were fifteen. Up until then, it had never been physical. Sure there were remarks and shady comments thrown here and there, but never did insults come to push.

Eighteen. Eighteen is the age where push came to shove. No one knew why. No one understood why. All was fun and game at the party at Asher’s house down the street, booze was passed around, blunts and bongs escaped the basement and started to appear in the living room. That’s when it happened.

Mike might have had too much to drink, him who usually hold his liquor rather well, but also the one to usually be the one who would stop drinking after two. Tonight wasn’t one of those nights. Because just looking at Stan at the moment made that familiar burn in his chest curse through his veins.

“I hate him. I hate him so much.” He slurred a little bit, his chocolate eyes not being able to look away from him and the way he danced way too close to Bill. Who did he think he was to just act this way? Or drink this much? Mike would scoff if he could actually follow the train of thought he was having.

“No, you don’t, silly.” The giggling mess that was Eddie beside him said, poking his index into the hollow of Mike’s cheek, standing on his tiptoes, effectively capturing his attention, much to his actual dismay. “You liiiike himm.”

What escaped Mike’s mouth was a mix of a pure giggle and a strangled scream in response, ignoring the way his heart tripled in beat as he heard the simple sentence ‘ _you like him_ ’, startling more than a few dazed and well-baked friends around them.

“I don’t like him.” He said, once the sound died down and Eddie stopped using him as support before he snaked his way out of the living room and into the kitchen where all the alcohol rested.

“I just want to punch his beautiful face full force.” Mike slurred out loud, mostly to himself as he waited behind the only person in front of the beverage table. 

Stan, who was the one at the table, one hand gripping the table hard while the other was clutching the fabric of his cream sweater, felt like he was about to throw up. His intoxicated self could barely stay still for long seeing how his head bothered him up with thoughts he not only didn’t want, but also that troubled him beyond reason and made him sick. He didn’t want them. He didn’t want to be sick. He could only imagine what his father would do if he was sick.

“Are you gonna chose your drink and go or what?” Mike complained louder than probably meant to, making stan turn out ready to give pure shit to whoever it was but when he saw who it was, his eyes turned darker, his blood ran colder, but somehow the knot in his stomach and the invisible hand on his throat only tightened.

“You!” Stan began, stumbling forward a bit before his index dug into Mike’s collar bone. His breathing patterned increased, his every muscle in his body started to shake from the fact that he was so tensed and still managed to put so much force into one single finger that was now repeatedly stabbing him.

“This is all your fault!” He croaked out, emotions high and tight at his throats. Mike didn’t know at the moment what he did wrong to make him upset enough that he could see tears pearling at his eyes. Even if he didn’t know he let Stan do what he wanted, more so he was frozen in place, unable to fight back, too troubled by what he was seeing. And what he was feeling. Because drunk him felt a certain type of way seeing Stan genuinely this upset and alarmed dared he assume.

“I didn’t want any of this! Why did you do this to me? Why did you- Get out!.” Mike stumbled backward as he found himself being promptly shoved back with a lot more force than he thought Stan would ever have, catching himself onto the counter behind him before he braced himself, eyes tightly shut, for the next shove that never came. And sure enough, when he peaked an eye open, he found himself to be completely alone in the kitchen. All the air that had been stuck inside him for what seemed like the last minutes or so escaped him all at once, the stress put onto his shoulders though barely even letting down seeing as, deep down, he was more than just a little worried about his so-called enemy and the breakdown that occurred.

“You won’t remember this so I might as well just spit it all out. You’re acting like a fool because you don’t know how to manage your own goddamn emotions.” Richie had told Stan that night as he dragged him out of the situation that could have all too possibly escalated for the worst rather quickly. And he was right. Well, he was right in saying that Stan wouldn’t remember. He barely even remembered that he was at Richie’s either when he woke up, let alone everything he had learned and unbagged the day/night before.

 

At Twenty-one years old everything changed. They not only were at the same university, but they were also forced to share the same dorm room. Things couldn’t have been worst. Mike would purposely leave his unkempt, meanwhile, Stan would make sure to stay up late and type obnoxiously loud on his computer or phone to. Everyone was ready for all hell to break loose, hell even they were. But it never happened. Not after he came ‘home’ to a room that looked like a hurricane had come through and, amidst the wreckage, could see and hear a weeping Stan.  

Mike, who came back from his daily gym session, didn’t want to just turn around and leave. The scene felt awkwardly familiar to him for some reason, twisting his guts with one hell of a grip. He made his way carefully through the broken shards of glass and all the paperwork scattered around until he found himself next to Stan. He let himself fall to his butt like a kid would with a heavy sigh, effectively snapping the blond man out of his head enough so he knew he was there. But unlike usual Stan stayed quiet, apart from the broken sob that his mouth amidst him turning his head away and pressing his mouth against his knee. 

“You know, we can be friends for a few minutes. No one has to know.”

He expected the dirty look Stan gave him. He expected to feel like an idiot for even proposing a break in their still ongoing war. What he didn’t expect though was for him to scoot closer the tiniest bit, wiping his snotty nose onto his long sleeve.

“I just need someone to hold me and tell me it’s going to be okay.” He stuttered out, mostly because of the hiccups. Mike nodded in understanding, closing the gap between them fully, his arms wrapping around his shoulders to bring him even closer.

Stan hated it. He hated the comfort that invaded him as soon as the strong arms closed around him and as soon as his own head rested upon his shoulder. He hated the way those big hands slowly caressed his upper arm along with the way his hot breath fanned over his loose curls, somehow, someway keeping him as grounded as it was possible for now. 

Maybe just maybe he could understand a little bit why everyone always clung to him like leeches or why everyone wanted to sit next to him on the couch. He was comfortable, his muscles acting like comfortable pillows and he was hot. Like his own source of heat which made him shiver in comfort and nuzzle a little closer, though he’d never admit it out loud.

“You stink so fucking bad,” Stan commented rather matter-of-factly, nonetheless, he lets his body contorts in such a way so he could wrap both of his arms. His heart couldn’t ignore the way Mike chuckled and the way his arms tightened around him ever so slightly. It swelled all too happily amidst the burning tears that still trailed down his face like a cascade.

“You know. You’re going to be fine. Whatever’s going on isn’t the end of the world. Plus, you’re Stan Uris, of course, you’re going to be okay.”

It probably was supposed to help, Stan broke down harder than he had before Mike showed up, suddenly desperately holding onto the slight sliver of hope he was bringing him.

 

Something shifted again after that day. They seemed to care enough about each other to have to pretend they didn’t care. But it was easy to notice the stolen glances, worried look into one or the other’s eyes when they feared their barking had crossed a line, the way Mike now, like when they were younger, always sat beside Stan or the way Stan refrain from any snarky comments. The losers found it a little weird but brushed it off to them trying not to have outburst out in public again.

Content noises filling the room as Mike’s large calloused hands caressed the curved of his jaw, moans, and gasps that died down in each others mouth. Bodies aching for one another, hands barely being able to undress one another before they met against the messy floor, yelps and choked cries, fingers twisted in tight frizz, nails digging into the exposed skin of his waist. It was slow, uncomfortable, full of emotions and rough. Yet Stan had never felt so blissful in his life, face buried in Mike’s shoulder, tearful gasps escaping him with each hard thrust, cries that always increased with the ‘I’ve got you.’ - ‘You’re okay, it’s okay.’ that were whispered in the deep of his ear and the pillow-soft kisses placed on the shell of his ear.

But behind the closed door of their shared dorm, they started to have little conversations, mostly polite ones; “Goodnights” - “Good mornings”- “How are you doing”. Sometime they would watch Buzzfeed unsolved together on one’s bed until they fell asleep. Mike tidied up his side of the room almost every day and Stan stopped being on his computer so late at nights. Some sort of mutual respect had emerged and deepened whenever one of them needed ‘Friend’ time. Friend time that always began with one of them venting and the other listening or being a shoulder to cry on that always turned into something more. Something friends shouldn’t do, much less enemies. It wasn’t always sexual, sometimes it really was just some cuddle-time, celebratory kisses, small caresses on ones back, massages.

It was their secret, the few hours where one forgot his homophobic parents and where the other could finally truly relax and not worry about his scholarship. It was their small piece of heaven. And they were okay with that.

**Author's Note:**

> ♡ Kudos and Feedbacks are more than appreciated ♡  
> 


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